


Raiders of the Lost City

by melagan



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe - Fusion, Indiana Jones Fusion, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-31
Updated: 2012-12-31
Packaged: 2017-11-24 03:08:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,705
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/629686
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/melagan/pseuds/melagan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>(AU) John Sheppard and Rodney McKay are searching for the mysterious Lost City of the Spires. Chaos ensues.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Raiders of the Lost City

**Author's Note:**

> Written for fannish_advent 2012

**Title:** Raiders of the Lost City  
 **Author:** [](http://melagan.livejournal.com/profile)[**melagan**](http://melagan.livejournal.com/)  
 **Fandom:** Stargate Atlantis  
 **Wordcount:** ~3700  
 **Rating:** NC-17  
 **Pairing(s):** McKay/Sheppard  
 **Beta(s):** [](http://mischief5.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://mischief5.livejournal.com/)**mischief5** mistakes=mine  


**Raiders of the Lost City**  
The treasure had to be here somewhere. They'd left the Valley of the Kings two days ago and were now closer to finding the Lost City than they'd ever been. John Sheppard tilted his battered fedora back a fraction from his forehead. It was enough to keep its brim from casting a shadow over the strange inscription. "Hey, McKay, get your ass over here. And bring that fancy translation device with you."

"I'm coming! Hold your horses, this thing's heavy, you know."

"Yeah, my heart bleeds. Just get over here and tell me if this is a trap or not."

John waited with what he considered a fair amount of patience. He wasn't sure if the exaggerated care was necessary but Rodney McKay seemed to think so.

"You've been fiddling with that thing for a half an hour. How much fine-turning can the blasted device need?"

"It's a precision instrument!" Rodney snapped. "You can't just throw a can of oil on it every now and again, Sheppard, and expect it to work!"

"Un-huh." John eyed McKay's backside. He was on his knees, bent over and fussing with something on the device. John couldn't tell what from this distance, but what the hell, he might as well enjoy the view. "Do you want help with that?"

"No."

"Don't tell me, you're recalibrating _another_ gear?" John teased. To hear Rodney tell it, the thing was as persnickety as an old maid. From what John could see, he was right.

Apparently satisfied, Rodney finally closed the lid. "I swear this thing puts on an extra pound every time I lift it."

John leaned against the stone. "Well," he drawled, "If it's too much trouble, I could go ahead and feel around for a hidden latch without your help. I've done it plenty of times before."

"And that's always ended so well." Rodney set the device down with an exaggerated huff. "You keep your fingers out of places they don't belong, Sheppard, and let me figure this out. The last thing we need is for you to trigger an explosion like you did in Cairo."

"It's always back to Cairo with you. When are you going to let it drop?" Sheppard put his hands on his hips and glared. It was an old song and dance without any real animosity. Cairo held some damn good memories for both of them. A Turkish bath, one hilarious misunderstanding, and an infuriated and jealous Dr. Rodney McKay, all culminating in Rodney's mouth on John's cock and blowjob that left him near bowlegged.

A flicker of a smile teased at the corner of McKay's mouth. John didn't doubt for a moment that he was remembering the same night with equal fondness despite his next words. "Yes, well, thanks to your shenanigans, the hotel barred me from the good coffee."

"McKay, you had plenty of coffee. I was there, remember?"

"Yes, but they wouldn't let me export any of the beans. Damn criminal if you ask me."

"But they didn't throw us in jail." John squeezed Rodney's shoulder. "Despite what we did to the bed linens."

"There is that," Rodney mused with a sly twinkle in his eye. "And the hideous brocade chaise —I think we did that a favor. Hmm, as I recall, the davenport listed a bit after as well. Shoddy furniture all in all, I'd say."

John choked back a laugh and pointed to the inscription instead. Whatever the words meant, they were carved deeply into an eighteen-inch square of smooth, pink marble. The marble was set waist-high into the side of a black boulder that rose above John's head. "You ever seen or heard of anything like this?"

"Well, it's obviously a marker." Rodney said. "Just look at it. Everything else out here is the color of sand. It practically jumps up and down screaming, notice me!"

John folded his arms across his chest and contemplated the marker. "So obvious and yet no one has claimed it as a discovery. There's no trace of anyone within miles, so is this a warning or is it directions of some kind?"

"It's possible," Rodney offered, "that the recent sandstorms uncovered it. Think about it, even the Sphinx was once buried up to its neck in sand and that's a lot bigger than this."

"And it's just coincidence that we acquired a map that led us here, just at the right time to discover it?"

"It does sound suspicious when you say it that way," Rodney said as he kneeled and opened the case. Not, John noticed, the least bit out of breath despite his earlier complaints.

Within the unlatched suitcase sat the cipher machine. Once again, John had to admit the machine was a marvel of engineering. Not unlike a typewriter only with the keys laid out in curved tiers, like a fine organ, each key embossed with a symbol. Most of them John didn't recognize. Below the ebony keys lay a maze of brass gears and springs. Some of the cogwheels were as large as his fist and others no bigger than the head of a nail. No wonder Rodney complained about the weight of it.

It wasn't all Rodney's work. The cipher machine owed some of its design to Dr. Radek Zelenka. Granted, it had taken the best part of a bottle of cherry brandy and a blowjob for Rodney to make that confession. It was more than John wanted to know, but reluctant admiration seemed to fuel Rodney's attack of honesty.

Zelenka was a good man and a good friend, one Rodney confessed he looked forward to seeing again, if only to toast the success of the cipher's first months of field-testing. He patted John's hair, brandy scented breath in John's face as he assured him that John had nothing to be jealous of.

Moments later, he promptly proved his point by undoing John's zipper with his teeth. Holy moley, John only wanted to find out how the machine worked but Rodney's hot mouth on his dick threw that question out the window.

John pulled his thoughts back to the here and now, adjusting his trousers as discreetly as possible. "How much longer, McKay? Be nice to get it done before the sun gets any higher."

"The battery's low on power; I'll have to use the hand-crank." Putting action to words, Rodney lined up the rod and pushed until it made a satisfying click.

While waiting, John checked the canteen. With the sun climbing overhead, it was getting hotter by the minute. Rodney would want the water as soon as he finished. Meanwhile, it was no hardship to watch Rodney work and think about licking the beads of sweat off the back of his neck. Damn, he looked forward to their return to Cairo after this.

"That should do it." Rodney handed John a wand apparatus. "Wave that slowly over the inscription. We should get a magnetic wave reading that our cipher can translate and convert into keystrokes onto the rice paper."

"I get it," John said. "Like the way a player piano works only in reverse."

"I assure you, that assumption is entirely wrong. It may look like that but it's far more complex than —That's odd." Rodney sat back on his heels with a puzzled look on his face, the soft clacking of machine parts the only noise in the quiet air.

"It's not working?" John asked.

"It's working but it's giving me some gibberish about a neutron —no, not neutron —a quantum mirror."

"Maybe the machine is broken."

"Hmm, not broken per se. We're getting readings but something in the way it's keying the information is off."

John put the wand down and handed Rodney the canteen. "Let's take a break while you figure it out."

"It's not that easy. Radek and I programmed in every known language including the dead ones." Rodney took the canteen and poured a handful of water on his face before taking a long drink. Water clung to his eyelashes, making it hard for John to see anything else.

His voice came out sounding like gravel when he finally managed to ask, "Do we give up then?" John restrained himself from reaching out and touching. Barely. As much as he hated the idea of giving up, he'd hate it more if he'd never met one Dr. Rodney McKay. He snorted to himself. Leave it to McKay to change John's whole perspective yet remain completely oblivious.

~*~

The Lost City of Spires remained the one great treasure John had yet to find. As a child, he'd heard the stories from his grandmother who'd heard them from her grandmother and so on through the generations. Fascinating tales of a city built of azure crystals and gold towers. He'd had no proof, just stories. Then one day, McKay showed up out of the blue to hire him.

In the middle of trying to teach boneheaded students and fending off simpering flirts —not all of them women —Rodney McKay was a breath of fresh air. John cancelled the remainder of his classes for the day, shooing out the students and dragging McKay to his private library. Over several pots of tea and stale onion bagels, they pored over all the information Rodney had about the Lost City.

John steadied his hands and took a deep breath before he gently unrolled the parchment scroll. Faded ink drawings, rendered with detailed care, rewarded him. A delicate city with roads and towers floated on... "What is this?" he asked Rodney. "It looks like clouds."

Bending near John's elbow, Rodney studied the drawing. "I agree. It does look like clouds. Damned if I can figure out what the circles with the triangles drawn on them mean either. Maybe the artist was indulging in poppy smoke or some medicinal mushrooms. You can never be sure with those artsy types."

John choked back a laugh, but from that moment, he knew Dr. McKay was someone he very much wanted to get to know better.

As they sat at the table enjoying their second round of tea, Rodney pulled a well-worn journal from his briefcase, his long fingers untying the leather bindings with practiced ease. "I acquired this some time ago. An uncle of mine was doing salvage work off the coast of the Northern Isles. Fierce, rocky coastline; I'm surprise there weren't more shipwrecks. Anyway, he found this in the hold of a ship, wrapped in oilskin, and sealed in a watertight case. Someone certainly considered it valuable enough to protect. My uncle had no use for it so he sent it on to me.

"What's of particular interest is that it has several passages about a Lost City with spires that scrape across the heavens. I expect that's why there are clouds in the drawing."

Rodney leaned forward, earnest intent written all over his face. "Frankly, I've got no talent or interest in careening off to unknown parts with little more to go on than a faded map and a diary of folktales. However, Professor Sheppard, I've heard it said that you're exactly the kind of man that does."

That was the start of it all. John couldn't resist the lure of finding his treasure, and Rodney couldn't resist the opportunity to use his new invention. For a man who professed to have no sense of adventure, Rodney had traveled with him every step of the way.

In the following course of days, they'd traveled by car, by airplane, and by train. Rodney made an interesting travel companion. Certainly, the nightly chess games over a bottle of port made the interminable, overnight train rides bearable. Rodney matched John story for story, each tale growing more and more outrageous as the level in the bottle dropped. The look on Rodney's face when John offered to pull out his bullwhip had been damn near priceless.

When they finally arrived at the Northern shores, no traces remained of the shipwreck, nor had John expected it. He was looking for stories, local news, any gossip about the find that he could use. Instead, the locals told them tales of mermaids and St. Elmo's fire. John had heard it all before. Rodney, however, had to be dragged from the local pub, well inebriated and far too interested in the half-naked aspect of mermaids for John's liking.

So while that wasn't the type of gossip John was hoping for, in the end, Rodney's uncle made the trip worthwhile. The old coot had squirreled away trunks of the ship's cargo. To John's delight, he'd offered to let them poke through the lot of it in return for a steak dinner. Sitting on the porch, picking at his teeth with a broken toothpick, he'd allowed how he'd had enough gad-nab-boney fish to last a lifetime.

They hadn't wasted any time.

"What is it?" John held the unusual device up to the attic window, hoping for a better view in the afternoon light. Its size and shape resembled a large Fabergé egg, only this wasn't like any egg John had ever seen. Within the shell were lattices of blue crystal, layer within layer of them like matryoshka dolls.

Rodney stood up from his circle of books and came over for a closer look. He didn't try to take the device from John's hands, merely inspected the workings through a magnifying glass.

"Do you always carry one of those around?" John asked, indicating the glass with a tilt of his head.

"Yes. You'd be surprised how useful these are. Huh. It's rather pretty, isn't it?" A frown dimpled between Rodney's eyebrows. "It's almost like..." His voice trailed off as he stared into the center of the orb.

"McKay, snap out of it!" Dropping the device, John grabbed Rodney by both shoulders and gave him a sharp shake. "Rodney!" Forcing back the panic, he gave him another sharp shake, fingers curled tightly around McKay's broad shoulders. Thank god, it worked. With a slow blink, Rodney came back to his senses. He leaned heavily against John. The warmth of his solid body pressed close, so close John could have easily brushed his mouth against the nape of Rodney's neck.

Perhaps, it should have surprised him that he wasn't adverse to the idea. But then again, John had seen and shared in wild cultural rituals all over the world. A man learned a lot of things about himself under those circumstances. No, he wasn't put off by this growing desire, not at all.

It remained to be seen what Rodney McKay thought of the idea but John had hope. For one, the man had no idea of personal space as far as John was concerned. But first —

"Sit down, buddy." John liberated the nearest trunk of its pile of books with one broad sweep of his arm. "Water? I can be back in a minute."

Rodney gripped John's wrist, halting him in place. "No. Yes. Coffee... But, wait, John —I saw stars, a constellation. Don't look at me like that, I know what I saw." He drew in a shaky breath, his hand still holding onto John. "We need to go to the Southern hemisphere. I'm not sure where exactly, but I think we should start with Egypt."

"Okay."

Narrowing his eyes, Rodney asked, "Okay? That's it? You're just ready to hop a train on my say so?"

"From Scotland to Egypt, a ship's faster." John rubbed the back of his neck with his free hand and gave Rodney a sheepish look. "Believe it or not, I've traveled farther on fewer clues. This isn't even the strangest thing I've heard." He cleared his throat. "One condition. You get to tell your uncle we broke his fancy egg."

~*~

One tantalizing clue led to another and Rodney's cipher machine proved invaluable, translating even the most obscure text. But nothing indicated a journey to Asia or Southern Africa. John finally pinned Rodney down to an answer in Cairo.

It helped that Rodney tended to be loose lipped and unguarded after a good fucking.

"Everything we find leads us west of the Valley of the Kings, not south of the equator. Is there something you're not telling me?" John asked. He pinched Rodney's nipple. "Well?"

"That's not fair. This is questioning under duress!"

"What if I promise to kiss it and make it all better?" John teased.

"I suppose. Will sucking be involved?" Rodney sighed, snuggling closer. "I like it when you suck on 'em."

"After. I promise. First, you have some explaining to do."

"All right. Fact is, I didn't recognize the constellation so I thought surely it must be one only seen from below the equator like Centaurus. I must have been wrong. Now I'm not sure what I saw. It doesn't really matter, does it, John, as long as we're on the right track now?"

"Doesn't matter at all." Smiling, John leaned down and kissed Rodney. "Now then, I believe I have a promise to keep."

~*~

  
And now they were here. He watched as Rodney began packing up the machine, too distracted to pay John any attention. With time on his hands, John began circling the monolith. Movement caught his eye and he halted directly behind the thing.

In front of his eyes, the surface of the rough, black rock began to change. He took a step back in shock. Not taking any chances, he pulled his revolver, cocking it as he aimed at the strange, greasy surface.

The surface cleared, giving John a view into a room unlike anything he'd ever seen. A snarling, ugly beast turned to face John dead on. The vile creature had pale, green skin, and dead white hair. It blinked at him with yellow cat-eyes so unnatural they made John's blood run cold. With one hand, it held a man up, letting his feet dangle above the floor like a doll's. Sheer terror filled the man's blue eyes, his face so shockingly familiar John's gut felt like he'd been hit with a ton of bricks. The man's mouth opened and closed wordlessly, as if he'd already screamed himself out. With a snarl, the creature turned its full attention on John, dropping the man and reaching —reaching out until one clawed hand broke the through the liquid surface. Horrified, John fired two shots point-blank into its chest.

Instead of killing it, the creature grinned, its devil teeth dripping with spittle.

"Son of a...." John emptied his gun, drilling his last four bullets straight between its eyes. Dead —an odd expression of shock on its face —the creature fell back beneath the strange surface.

"Thanks." A man in an unfamiliar uniform stepped up to the entrance and gave John a nod. "The colonel gets a little testy if I let anything happen to Dr. McKay. In fact, you look quite a bit like the colonel. I take it there's a quantum mirror near here."

John nodded, speechless. He was definitely asking Rodney what the hell a quantum mirror was at the first opportunity.

"You really saved our bacon, mister." Pointing to himself, he added, "Major Lorne, here. I can't tell you how glad we are you happened to show up when you did. If you don't mind a little advice, bury the mirror. Better yet, destroy it. The Wraith have been trying to find a way to Earth, and they're not too picky which Earth they find."

"The 'wraith'?"

"More creatures like this one. Sorry, gotta go. I won't forget this!" A few moments later, the surface rippled and changed again, back to its original black, rocky surface.

"John, who are you talking to?" Rodney asked. "And what's with the target shooting?" Rodney walked up to him, puzzled expression on his face. "What's that?"

John tore his gaze away from the rock long enough to look down at his hand. The package he held was the size and weight of a half-pound of butter, with a label marked C-4. "Lorne tossed it to me. You know, never mind.... This says it's..." John's eyebrows shot up. "'Explosive plastic'?"

"Let me see that!" Rodney snapped his fingers until John passed it to him. "My god, this is Nobel's blasting jelly or I'll eat my hat! Fascinating history. Did I ever tell you —ow! What did you hit me for?"

"Rodney, focus. What have we got we can use for a detonator?"

"You want to blow the rock? Why? What about your lost city?"

"Rodney, trust me, there's a time and a place for everything and right now, any place this would lead to, we don't want to be." 

"I can rig up any number of things from what we brought. Long fuse, short fuse, or timed?"

"Something quick."

The tension in John's face or words must have struck Rodney's own sense of urgency. Within ten minutes, they were taking cover behind one of the big rubber tires at the rear of their truck. Rodney held his fingers in his ears as John triggered the blast. The resulting rubble was a beautiful sight to see.

"Are you ever going to tell me what this is about, Sheppard?"

"Maybe. Someday. If I ever get drunk enough."

"Oh, lovely." Rodney reached up to brush the rock dust out of John's hair. "You lost your hat again. By the way, your inebriated conversations leave something to be desired, you know."

"Aw, c'mon, Rodney, I know it's not my scintillating conversation you're after. You just like it when I'm drunk enough to let you play with my bullwhip." John leered.

"Oh my god. Shut up! Just for that excruciating pun, you owe me breakfast in bed. For a week."

John threw his arm over Rodney's shoulder. For now, he refused to think about that other Sheppard and his McKay, or the demons they chased. He knew what he had, here, now, and the lengths he'd go to keep that safe. "Breakfast in bed, check."

He reached down and gave Rodney's ass a fond squeeze. "Play your cards right, doc, and you may just get breakfast in bed until Christmas."

~*~


End file.
